


The Vampire Nicolas

by Wadewilsonsunicorn



Category: The vampire Lestat reply
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, The ocs are mine please do not steal them, this is a fake book lmao, you can message me on tumblr if you want to rp someone okay?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:07:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9090835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wadewilsonsunicorn/pseuds/Wadewilsonsunicorn
Summary: Nicolas de Lenfent writes a really long detailed origin story/ fuck you letter that is the length of a book.  //I'm was sleep deprived on tumblr/ reading the vampire lestat again to get in character and had the bright idea to write as Nicolas and now my fingers hurt and im sad. This is just a sad sad tale of the life of Nicolas sprinkled with cynicism, and peppered with self hate and loss of hands. There's also fire and the catacombs so that's fun.  //





	1. book cover

 

 

 


	2. inner book title




	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

{Disclaimer.}  
{{This is for entertainment purposes only. I have no intention to sell or claim the characters as my own. Nicolas de Lenfent and so and so belong to Anne rice. I am not Anne Rice nor am I affliated with her in any way. There are Ocs however that are of my own creation for the Lenfent family tree. Please note that even though English is my first language I am not smart and most of the fancy schmancy or French is most likely googled or learned from several apps I have on my phone. I am not fluent.}}

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. prologue

**Vampires and other nonsense.**  
 _The Vampire Nicolas_  

~~Heavily edited. Enjoy!~~

_**The Procrastinating Prologue.** _

 

__

                                                     In literature there is a reoccurring theme of the sea or ocean. Some writers are captivated by the brilliant blue waves and interesting creatures that lay beneath. Others of tales of drowned lovers lost to the depths when the cruelty and unjust actions of others with the help of their own melancholy fling themselves off cliffs. A writer or two awestruck and mesmerized by sailors meeting their makers when ships sink leaving bodies to be plucked clean by fish, their bones forever claimed by the depths. Of Davy Jones.  Of gargantuan white whales, and a mans manic pursuit. They write of monstrous beasts large enough to sink ships, with suckers large enough to cover faces, and eyes as big as the portholes. Creatures fearsome enough to scare kiddies and even the bravest of grown men alike to be terrified to step foot in anything larger than a puddle ever again. They write of calm still waters waves breaking on sands, and joyful beautiful people walking and collecting what the sea offers. 

                                                    

                                                    My sea is nighttime waters, the once white sea foam dyed crimson meeting obsidian moonlit cliff while the lone bird's empty nest sits cold on the cliffside. A reminder that it once flew free over my sea unreachable and now unattainable. I lay in the depths waves rocking me further from the rock jutting from the water. My sea is inside me waves crashing against the bones of my chest where my heart once beat. The waves are my heartbeat now. My sea is in my mind lulling me in moments of intense emotion. My sea dragged a lover to the depths of my darkness and he recoiled and fled. A seamless black sea is best viewed at night when shadows dance to horrific unheard symphonies accompanied by the frantic heartbeats of those lost in the dark, and the long dead madman musicians sad waltz. When the stars are brilliant in a cloudless sky, and all the beautiful dreamers dream.

 

                                                   My story is not of clear blue or nighttime waters. It is not of waves crashing on the shore of places I have not ventured.  My story is not of the sea, though there is a boat or two on rough waters and the sea may be mentioned it is not the focus of my tale. I have no love for the ocean to fill a notebook with poor writing.

 

                                                   Extraordinary writers are few and far between that can lay a net and ensnare readers like a black widow captures her prey. Line after line well spun into a web of fine literature. Vibrations of joy and pain past and present echo in the ink on the page. One can only hope to achieve greatness themselves. I have no interest in being extraordinary or being on a level like Poe or Wilde. Beautiful men who cannot be imitated or forgotten. I don't wish to be great at all. I just wish to share my story and slip back into the shadows. Leave me to my mellowed madness, and solitude. Do not seek me out just because I am not truly dead like many have been led to believe.   
  
  

                                                     There are dozens of tales of the woes of vampire ilk. There are even different variations of our species. There is some kind who can drink alcohol, which is fascinating because I have needed a drink for over two hundred years. Dracula. Some children's series where there is a circus of strange things that go bump in the night. From children to old crusty nasty men looking to leave a legacy. To the fools who fall in love with their makers. To the solo vampires, with relatives exploring every inch of this world. To those who are truly alone. This is for you. The public. The humans. The vampires. Whatever may lurk in the shadows. 

 

For the cynics.

For you my maker.  
   
 For you heartbreaker.   
  
For the handtaker. 

For the sinners. 

For anyone who doesn't have someone to leave a book to. 

 

For me for closure. 

 

To Lestat and Gabrielle, and I suppose Armand.   
  
Enclosed are love letters never sent written in blood on old yellowed paper. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fake book will be posted in chapters. I guess I'm really doing this. My tumblr is sanngmcrt or kiiillcd


End file.
